#*potomac dammit

[lostandbackagain]

thinking about when my brother got dragged under the water in the northern potomac and no one noticed he was being swept away except our boston terrier, who tried to save him and also got swept away

[abarbaricyalp]

Sambucky, sharing clothes? Bucky stealing Sam's airforce shirts?

Friend, Bucky in air force shirts is my favorite image

TW: Vomiting and Illness in section V

This is a 5+1 and I'm only posting section I here because I don't want to clog up anyone's dash. You can read the full fic on AO3 here

The Truths Beneath Our Ribs

I.

Coming back to the VA after the Potomac--triskelions?-- was weird. Part of him was expecting his boss to bar him from the premises and part of him was expecting his groups to shy away from him and his minor newfound celebrity. But, after two sessions, none of that had happened. He was still just a guy cleaning up a room on his own.

Until he wasn’t. He’d heard the door open and had called over his shoulder, “What’s up?” and finished tossing paper cups into the trash before turning around. Someone he couldn’t immediately recognize in a hoodie was grabbing armfuls of metal chairs and racking them up on the rods on the wall.

Sam leaned back against the refreshments table. “You need someone to talk to?” he suggested. “Can’t just take the free labor, y’know,” he joked.

The figure ran gloved hands over the edges of the suspended chairs and then slowly reached up to slip the hood off. Really, the hair should’ve given it away, but Sam’s brain wasn’t even close to that train of thought, so he didn’t recognize the Winter Soldier until he turned around.

If the table was any sturdier, Sam might’ve flipped over it. As it was, he stumbled back into it as he scrambled to right himself. By design, there was nothing that could be used as a weapon in the room--except maybe the chairs, of which there was a super soldier between Sam and them. Sam had forfeit his pocket knife at the door and he wasn’t sure there’d be anyone to hear him call out during this lunch hour.

The Winter Soldier--Barnes--looked pained and he took a step back. “I’m not… I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, voice rasping and damaged. Sam couldn’t help but wonder if it was from disuse or the shouting match he’d gotten into with Steve.

Or breathing in Potomac River water rescuing Steve.

Because it had to have been Barnes that dived in after him, right? Pulled him onto the bank and left him to cough and sputter his way back to life? There’d been no one else there.

It’d been almost two weeks.

Barnes looked clean enough, all things considered. Hair washed, new clothes--even if they didn’t fit quite right--a beard coming in along his jaw.

“Why Air Force?” Sam asked, nodding at the hoodie Barnes was wearing. It was as much of a truce that Sam was willing to offer.

Clearly it took the other man by surprise and he took another step back, looking down at the jacket like it was the first time he was seeing it. Which, maybe brain torture did that to short term memory. “Oh. Um,” he began and smoothed a thumb over the hem of the shirt.

Which was about the same time Sam noticed a grease stain at the shoulder and a hole in the bottom of the front pocket and the way the screen printing had peeled off on the bottom corner of the C.

“Is that my hoodie?” he asked, indignant, suddenly uncaring that it was the Winter Soldier in front of him. “Were you in my house? Are those my jeans?”

Barnes smoothed his hands over his thighs. “Your jeans wouldn’t fit me,” he said, which almost sounded like a personality. “I took them out of… Steve Rogers’ bag. You should put a lock on your sliding door.”

Sam could strangle him.

“What the hell were you doing in my house?” he asked.

Barnes looked down again, scuffed a boot against the tile, tugged at the hoodie. “I was looking for you,” he finally admitted. “I’ve...learned a lot. And I know there’s still so much ahead of me. I’m trying to...get my head on right. I--”

“You should be talking to Steve. I don’t have any answers for you.”

Barnes’ face screwed to one side, not quite a snarl, not quite a frown, something indecisive and confused, like the man in front of him. “I don’t want answers. I want to...figure it out on my own. I want them to be my thoughts.”

Sam wondered how long it had been since Barnes had been allowed that.

“I just needed to...see you. Well, not you. But if you’re okay, I know that the… that Steve Rogers is okay. I know you were helping him at the hospital and afterwards. If you left him alone, let him leave the house, he must have recovered.”

“You should go talk to him,” Sam said again. And wasn’t that a change? Sam had thought he’d never want the Winter Soldier near Steve again. Clearly Steve’s head wasn’t screwed on right around the guy. But the man standing in front of him was not the Winter Soldier. Not in any way that mattered. Not so far anyway. This seemed much more like the man Steve was so sure existed under the mask and eye makeup. And, dammit, Sam wanted to help him.

“No. Not yet,” Barnes said. “I’m not going to tell you not to tell him because I know what I say doesn’t matter to you. I mean, hell, you argue about what avocados to buy in a crate full of identicals. You’ve got opinions that you stick to.” And there was that personality again, which Sam was already getting irritated with. “But can you give me enough time to put your hoodie back and get a ticket out of here?”

“Where are you gonna go, Barnes? You think the Winter Soldier is only wanted in America?”

Barnes’ eyes lit at his name but Sam wasn’t sure the man even realized it. “I know I’m not, but I’m good at lying low. I can make it work. Somewhere quiet.”

“Steve isn’t gonna stop looking for you,” Sam said.

“He will,” Barnes answered. “Something else will attack the world and he’ll have no choice. He’s still gotta play Captain America.”

Sam thought back to history lessons about abandoned USO tours and the sight of the shield falling from the Triskelion as he heard Steve say ‘I’m not gonna fight you’ over the comms. He was pretty certain the one thing that always ensured Steve didn’t play Captain America was the man standing in front of him.

“I’m not leading him astray for you,” he said finally. “But I won’t tell him I saw you unless he asks. Not at first.”

Barnes looked up at him, all wide eyed and surprised, and the name Bucky suddenly fit a lot better. “Thank you,” he said, took a step forward, thought better of it, and then stepped towards the door. “I’ll be gone by nightfall.”

“I don’t know what Steve’s doing,” Sam warned. “He could be back at the house by the time you get there.”

“Maybe I’ll just leave your hoodie in the bushes outside,” Barnes threatened. Sam glared at him. Barnes stared right back. “I know to check for people inside before I barge in.”

“I don’t know what goes on in that cyborg brain of yours,” Sam scoffed.

“More than goes on in yours,” Barnes answered. Sam was about to kick up the biggest fuss when he realized the corner of Barnes’ mouth had turned up just enough to dimple his cheek.

“Get out of here before I change my mind,” Sam said, waving a hand to the door, which was about the first time he realized he wasn’t shaking or even flushed. The fear of the Winter Soldier had dissipated almost as instantly as it had washed over him.

Barnes paused in the door like he was about to say something but a woman from one of Sam’s other groups walked in right then. She gave Barnes an appreciative once over as they passed.

“He’s cute,” she said pointedly.

“Ugh, as if,” Sam said. “What’s up?” And because he was a damn professional, he didn’t let his eyes slip back to the door to see if Barnes was sticking around.

[gwaciechang]

Circles (1/15?)

For my trashy folks, this fic will have no redeeming value.

Tw: slave au, negative references to sex work, dubcon due to Zemo not really being able to consent, and the pov character not knowing that Zemo can't consent.

Pairing: gender ambiguous reader/Zemo, no use of y/n.

“I’m going to be working late today.”

And you are definitely going to break up with Brock Rumlow, because he is an asshole who forgets your anniversary.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ve already called ahead, you’ll find a present in our room.”

“Fuck you,” and you hang up, just in time to avoid walking into a man in front of your apartment building.

The first thing you notice about him is that he’s really fucking cute. The second thing you notice is that one of his eyes is clearly more swollen than the expertly applied makeup around it can hide. And third, well, he’s staring back at you.

“Hi,” well, if you’re breaking up with your boyfriend, you might as well start acting single now. “You want to come in and put some ice on that?” you nod to his swollen eye and start feeling around your pockets for your keycard. Dammit, where did you put it? You give the cute guy what you hope is a charming smile, but you can see your tight wince reflected in his eyes. Smooth, so smooth, you fucking idiot.

“Sure,” and he takes a keycard and opens the door.

Ah, so, the surprise Brock gave you was a prostitute. Typical. You briefly consider telling him to go straight back to Brock and tell him to go fuck himself, but Brock would probably do something mean, and besides, the guy really needs to ice his eye. You gesture for the man to follow you up the stairs.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Helmut.”

“Okay, don’t tell me, it’s fine.”

“My name is Helmut,” he insists, and there’s something serious in his eyes.

“Okay, Helmut,” you make sure he can see that your face is just as serious as his.

Unsurprisingly, he has a key to your apartment. Brock really does think with his dick.

“Uh, hold on, stay here for a second,” you motion for him to stay in the living room. “Or you can go to my, uh, bedroom,” you wince as the words leave your mouth. “It’s the second door on the right.”

He doesn’t even blink. Right, that’s what he’s here for. And honestly, if you were feeling even slightly less tired, you’d probably find the way his ass fills his barely there shorts more admirable, but you’re tired, and the guy you’re admiring needs your help.

So, what do you have? You think the bag of green peas you bought before New Year’s, one of Brock’s many attempts to start healthier habits, might still be in the freezer, considering, well, it was one of his many attempts to start healthier habits. Sure enough, the half-eaten bag is in the back of the freezer, squashed between a box of Readimeals that comprised Brock’s actual diet and frozen waffles that probably expired last year. You take it out of the freezer and walk into your room to

Oh, fuck!

He moves like liquid, almost dripping across the covers as he lies down. His legs are smooth, almost glowing with invitation. Even in the dim lighting through the window his eyes look like glitter like faceted smoky quartz, and if the Strike team could hear your thoughts comparing his eyes to gemstones, you’d have to transfer to a new division, because they’d be insufferable.

You hold out the bag of peas and motion for him to press it to his eyes. He does, staring at you with an expression you can’t read, for reasons that go beyond the fact that half his face is covered. It somehow makes him look even cuter, and you realize your breathing speeds up so much that he notices. Shit.

But he’s smiling, now, and he beckons you onto the bed. You should probably leave, because if you don’t stop walking closer to him or go to sleep on the couch, you’re going to actually end up fucking this guy.

You don’t end up sleeping in a different room.

His tongue is magic, little kitten licks to start with, but taking you in deeper and deeper until you think he’s sucking your soul out. You’re making sounds you didn’t know you could make, and you swear every one is accompanied by fireworks zipping up your spine to explode underneath your eyelids. You come down his throat with a scream and he swallows you like he’s draining every single ounce of solidness in your muscles. When it’s done, you’re left panting on the bed next to him, barely able to keep your eyes open. There’s a cold spot under your side, much bigger than you expected, seeing as he pretty much just sucked your soul out through your

You feel around for the bag of peas and toss it up. He catches it with one hand, the other coming up to brush the sweaty hair away from your face, an unexpectedly gentle and tender touch that you can’t help but nuzzle into. He huffs, but when you look up, his eye reflects only amusement.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

You can’t answer honestly, since you can’t feel most of your body. “How are you feeling?” you ask instead. “How’d you hurt your eye?”

“Mountain climbing,” he says, and it’s such an obvious lie that you don’t even know how to call him out on it.

“You’re terrible,” you say, wiggling closer to him. He wiggles closer, making you wince from the way his ribs dig into your face. He’s so thin, he could really use an ice cream, or a sandwich.

“Oh, shit, wait,” you get up and feel around for the cash in the back pocket of your jeans. “A little tip for you,” you hand over whatever crumpled bills are in it without even counting. “Go buy yourself an ice cream cone or something.”

He stares at the money while you rest your head on top of his chest. He starts at the contact, but brings his arms up to wrap around you anyway. What a nice guy. He almost makes you want to forgive Rumlow, almost. You don’t want to think about him now, so you close your eyes and let exhaustion pull you under. The last thing you feel is his hand come up to pet your hair.

When you wake up, you’re disappointed to find that he’s already left with the money. Maybe Brock only paid him for the night? You shrug, it’s really not your problem. But it’s really annoying that Brock’s not home yet. In completely pointless revenge, you turn on the television and crank it up to max volume. You immediately turn it back down, because you don’t want to disturb the nice lady down the hall. She’s got enough on her plate, coming in at all hours of the night in nurses’ scrubs.

The remote crashes on the floor before you’re done, because on the screen, the helicarriers are falling into the Potomac.

[resurrectedhippo]

post-endgame stevetony fic: down in lonesome town

Summary: After the universe is restored, Steve finds himself at a loss without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a lake. Across the misty blue lake is Tony Stark’s new workshop.

Tags: Tony Stark Lives, Pining Steve, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lake Tahoe

Chapters: 2/8

Read Chapter 1 here.

Chapter 2: 

Steve visits the destroyed compound. A reminder of a life he could have chosen if he decided to stay, talk, and not run away. These days Steve’s mind is constantly wondering, filling him with doubt, making him second guess all his life choices.

Was it the correct choice for him to take the serum? Should he have been selfish, pursued a life with Peggy? Grow old with someone? Building a life with someone, a partner, now seems too daunting; an improbable task.

How the hell did Tony do it?

Explaining the shit he went through— falling into an ocean, waking to a distinctly different world, dropping from the Potomac, fighting the wars of faceless political men, only to be banished the second Steve had a different opinion— to someone else is unimaginable. He can’t dictate his life these past couple of years to someone in a different place. Someone circling another orbit.

Once again, his mind returns to Tony.

Memory is such a precarious thing. Remembering the past is only something he can share with the people who were with him. But there’s the thing: Bucky shared his past, and like any kin, Steve chased him across the world without care for the present.

Steve wonders whether his disagreement with Tony on the Accords and their later position as rogues could have been avoided if he hadn’t held such a moral high ground. Turned his nose in the air and thought himself better than the rest of the world. What was it that Tony said? Steve was above the law and pictured himself as a cowboy in the frontier? But utilizing the law to legitimize surveillance, control, and violence is wrong. He still stands by that and he’ll continue the argument with Tony. Only now, Steve imagines he’ll whisper his defense instead of using his fist. Or his shield.

What a funny thing, the ways in which things that are supposed to protect you also end up as the instruments for your own violence.

He spends evenings taking long walks around an unfamiliar neighborhood wondering if he’s held all of Tony’s actions against his own expectations, his own measurements of freedom and democracy. Of what’s right.

Perhaps, what’s right is not always the winning side. He knows that.

Steve didn’t understand in the moment at the airport, in the Siberian bunker, the moment he threw his shield, turned his back against Tony, that he’d lose himself in the process for all the compromises he’d have to make years down the line.

Steve’s right, dammit.

But so is Tony. How can two people be right in a conversation that calls for a winner? Steve won’t waver. Tony calls him a stubborn jackass. Maybe there’s truth to that.

We lost, he told Tony. Steve doesn’t like losing, whether that’s a soldier in the field, a pedestrian on the street, or his own teammate. But he’s watched all three fall and seen their bloody faces as they took their last breath.

Well, not Nat’s.

In the years following the snap, Tony disappeared.

Well, Steve knew where he was of course. Upstate. Or so Nat had said many years back. Of course, she knew Tony’s location. There was a photo of her and Morgan on her desk. Seeing used to make Steve’s inside twist up. The photo was on one of Tony’s many offices–one he never used while they all lived in the Compound. Nat made it her own. It was her desk. An expensive mahogany that hinted at Tony’s taste. Nat loved putting her sock-clad feet on it.

She was able to repair her relationship with Tony. Unlike Steve, who took the potentiality of saving the universe and all the sad, sad, miserable creatures that existed in it as a sign of faith to not be a coward. To stop running.

To stop avoiding what he’s truly wanted since Tony dropped down in a rocket ship, like a god from another planet all those paper backs from his childhood wrote about.

Tony returned to the Compound beaten and wrecked with the loss of Peter Parker. Steve blamed himself, then. He blames himself now, even if Peter Parker has reappeared. The kid was the one who carried Tony’s limp body to Rhodes and Pepper. Steve, once again, watched from the sidelines, up on a hill, beside Clint, who’s presence only served to remind him that they lost Nat.

The wreckage of the Compound is evidence of the battle won. In the end, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Returning to the status quo, restoring the lives forced to disappear into dust. Nothing but air. He wishes the rage and emptiness in his bones would vanish too. But it claws at him the ways in ways in which ugly things do–stealing his energy until Steve has nothing left to do but surrender.

Pale gray concrete and tech are all over. Untouched since the battle. Not even reporters dare to step foot in the vicinity of the wreckage. He’s seen Sam and Bucky pull up news reports of the battle. Journalists have safely captured the scene from the safety of their helicopters.

There’s only the chirping of the nearby birds, a song bird and an eagle, reminding him of a memory from long ago. His heart twinges, making Steve lose himself in reflections of Tony, Nat, the rest of them. Training with Tony and Clint in the fields. Tony shoots him with repulsors, and after they’d walk over to the lake, dip their feet, splashing each other until one is deemed defeated.

That was always them, huh. Always wanting to be winners.

In war, there aren’t any heroes, just soldiers and civilians left with the task of rebuilding a life.

Untouched, life forms even with fallen buildings and cracked pavements. There’s already a plant sprouting from the slits of the ruined footpath and up head, where the measly garden lies are some vines splintering and growing over the war-torn rubble.

Read the rest on AO3.

It would mean the world to me if you liked and reblogged! <3

[realhousewives-fan]

A Line Has Been Drawn in the Sand

Ashley Darby is really giving her all this season. She has been so open about her postpartum depression, her husband and the nature of their relationship.

But she’s also supportive of Monique Samuels, which I appreciate. And I have to say that I miss having Monique’s point of view in the mix.

When Ashley tried to invite Monique to their girls trip, Gizelle Bryant threw a fit!

She basically pressured Ashley into dropping the idea by threatening that she, Robyn Dixon, Wendy Osefo and Candiace Dillard wouldn’t come on the trip.

I understand that it’s tricky with the lawsuit between Candiace and Monique, but dammit, they need to have a conversation and move on from this incident!

Candiace was furious when she learned that Monique had pressed charges on her as well. 

And is there one thing we know about Candiace it’s that she’s holding a grudge. So there’s resolution in sight.

I know that I may be in the shrinking minority who still enjoys Candiace, with her spoiled antics and all. 

She said that she use music as a crutch in both happy and sad times. And in my mind I started to think about Rachel Berry on Glee. Rachel was a diva brat as well. 

But I’m here for a broader repertoire than “Happy Birthday”.

And Candiace has a cheerleader in Gizelle now. Mark my words when I say that Monique will never be good enough for Gizelle after this.

But messy Gizelle didn’t stop there in this episode. She was starting some trouble between Wendy and Karen Huger as well.

I think Gizelle exaggerated with Wendy, but Wendy is too sensitive. Why are she so eager to argue with Karen? And about the degrees? My God…

Now, Karen knew that she was in “Wendy-trouble”, as she called it. 

Her imitation of Wendy was hilarious and she proved yet again why she’s The Queen of Potomac.

Karen was able to check Wendy and make her laugh at the imitation of her at the same time. In my opinion, that’s a trait of a legendary housewife. 

I just enjoy Karen this season!

[gerec]

In the spirit of the RP Fest, do you have any Xavierine headcannons? (:

I’m sorry Anon - this past week has been crazy and I haven’t had a chance to  reply to your ask in a timely manner!!!

I DO have a few Xavierine headcanons that make it into most of my (canon) fic!

Meeting young!Charles when he goes back in time really throws him for a loop, because the Prof is almost unrecognizable as the man Logan knows and loves (and respects, and admires, and considers family). In fact, it’s only his sense of smell that reassures Logan he’s dealing with the right person - well that and the memories that Charles shared with him in the future that manage to convince young!Charles to help.

Logan saw disheveled, drunk/stoned 70s Charles and his first thought was 100% ‘I would totally hit that’. His second thought was ‘dammit he’s the Professor I can’t hit that’. Then ‘Ok I want to hit that, but won’t because I’m trying to save the future here’.*

That changes after the debacle in Paris because as much as Logan is still ‘we’ll get through this Charles don’t give up hope’ he’s probably pretty sure things are completely borked and he’s failed his mission. So, when (after the mind meld) Charles reaches out to him for comfort, Logan says ‘fuck it the world is ending anyway’ and they bone. Hard.

Logan’s admiration and respect morphs into something even deeper (though unnamed) by the time they’re on the plane to D.C. and he gives Charles the ‘find us, lead us, we need you’ speech.

His last thoughts (in the Potomac, before losing consciousness) is of both versions of Charles - how he let future!Charles down, and how much he hopes 70s Charles survives D.C. and SOMEHOW, SOMEWAY finds a way to change things for all of them. Because if anyone can it’s Charles Xavier. (He ‘dies’ without ever losing faith in Charles).

Other random stuff:

- Charles doesn’t like being carried because it makes him feel out of control. It’s only Hank and Logan (in the OT and new timeline, up until post Dark Phoenix) who manage to get past his reticence, and he allows their help without too much muss and fuss.

- Post DoFP, 70s Logan gets rescued by Mystique and heads to the School for answers, and stays there with Charles. They’re very happy, and their relationship is rock solid without any of the drama and angst that Charles experienced with Erik. Also XMA doesn’t happen at all. Neither does ‘Logan’ lol.

*No one will convince me that Logan isn’t attracted to Charles (any age/version); he’s just used to putting OT Prof X in a ‘mentor’ role and not in any other capacity. But once he meets baby!Charles it completely turns things on its head for him and they’re different enough that it helps Logan see him outside the mental box. ALSO, Logan can’t help but want to protect/take care of people who are vulnerable so…

[lifeisshrug]

science march 4-22-17

i’m not marching today. The science march is overtaking DC and it’s earth day but yet i’m #optinginside. Bill Nye is there, as is questlove (main MC??). CEO of Nature Conservancy is there. Most of my friends are there. Not me, today. Not really sure why. Wanting an indoor day to myself, mainly. I’d also really like to be perched out aside a stream in the middle of the woods and just watching life pass me by, but I’m not up for the struggle of getting to a destination with parade traffic, nor do i really long for congested trails full of newbs and tourists. 

It is also a rainy day and i worry that my outdoor toughness is softening; perhaps i just don’t want to get rained on? Pull yourself together, man. 

Yesterday was a normal friday at work, except that it was a busy morning (annoyingly, thanks boss); had lunch in the sun; procrastinated in the afternoon; ditched at about 4 and met Grace in the sculpture garden fountain on constitution. we sat in the sun and talked about her people watching (she’d had lunch with adriane and stuck around in the city). She’d written some stream of consciousness stuff (we’re currently trying to write some songs together) about wishing she could stop protecting her heart, and wishing she could do away with her plans and escape and go on adventures. She mentioned the man on the street, that she’d left out something he said: “all my thoughts are noble thoughts because all my thoughts are moral” or something like that. She’d told a friend of this sentence, and the friend suggested grace and i’s band be called “Noble Thoughts,” which i thought was neat and better than any water-themed thing i could have thought up. i left her at the metro station on Pennsylvania and 7th; she was having a yoga-class friend stay the next few nights, as she was between places. I brought up homelessness; Grace inquired, and hoped i’d share my experience working on that at another time. Looking forward to seeing Hurray for the Riff Raff with her Sunday. 

Grace’s voicemail, upon encountering the man: alright, listen. so iwas just walkin home from yoga class, walkin down the street, with my yoga mat in my backpack. and on the other side of the street there’s this old man in a red blazer and a red american flag hat with the tags still on it and a big old beard and a guitar, sitting on the park bench waiting for the bus across the street. He looks like a homeless guy. And he yells at me “hey you, you there! watcha got in that backpack?” and i said “welp, its a yoga mat.” and he said “well i thought it was a musical instrument! Can you fit a musical instrument in there?” And I said “well, I sure do, i got a kazu and spoons and..” he says “well come on over here and lets sing us a song!” So i went on over there and i brought out my spoons and my kazu anddddd (laughing) and show them off to him a little bit. and he says “well that’s great!” and he tells me that he’s just come from the Railroad Evangelists Society where they talk about evangelizing the lord and model trains. And he keeps talking about this and i tell him im a unitarian and don’t believe in evangelizing and he said “well i used to be a unitarian too until i met my devil wife; she’s dead now, bless her, and to everyone else it was a blessing.” and he starts telling me about life and std’s and a second wife and that he liked to sleep around...” and he was a hoot. it was really funny. and i said ‘you know i gotta go, so lets sing a song and ill be on my merry way. so he gets out his guitar and says you’ll know this one; and he starts playing his guitar and it is soooo out of tune that you can’t even pretend that it’s in tune, but he keeps playing as if he doesnt notice; and he starts singing a song and the bus pulls up and i say “sir nice to meet you but i gotta get on” and winked at the bus driver as i walked away. anyway, i wanted to tell you that. He gave me his address in case i wanted to write him letters, and so that we can look him up to jam sometime, if you’re interested. *laughs* ok, bye.

Last night was beer club. I brought along the new belgium ‘tartastic,’ a light lemon ginger sour and trekked over to Emily’s new apartment on 3rd and I, with Sam. I also brought along my empty can of Pure Water Brew (by clean water services). Clara joined. It was the usual gang -- carlos, emily, sam, les, monica and josh, and the rest of josh/carlos’ friends who i still don’t really know that well after all these months. the theme was “green beer” in time for earth day. So when it was my turn, i started rambling about the ingredient that is most central to beer -- water -- and basically explained the crux of the issues I’m working on at EPA in order to paint a picture, and then explained that the Pure Water Brew was the perfect beer with respect to not contributing to those problems; and i explained my lament that i could not actually share it with anyone. Somebody asked if folks could one day get over the stigma of drinking beer made from poop water, and i smiled big and said “YES! And i’ll tell you why! Think about the water system we have. When you flush or whatever, all that water goes to the community wwtp, where it is cleaned to pretty paltry standards, and then released into the river -- millions of gallons worth a day -- and then the next town downstream sucks it in and makes their drinking water out of that. By the time potomac water gets to DC Water’s drinking water intakes, it’s supposedly gone through 7 or 9 people already. and so when folks ask me the poop water question, i simply say, ‘dammit, we’re all already drinking it anyway!’” and it went over pretty decently, actually. Anyway, people cheered for my “ted talk” and i was glad i brought it up, even though i’d only given it a little thought so my coherence wasn’t where it needed to be. the rest of beer club was a hoot, and we played with the pug Frank (emily’s roommates’) until we lost him; until we realized his momma had just snagged him. Everyone’s beer pitches were top notch and the voting was convoluted as ever (went with the “French” model of elections); Beer club is never a bad time. 

I quickly typed out my thoughts regarding the “ted talk on water and beer” that i started rambling about during beer club:

***

Given that we're doing green beer, it's earth day, and my beloved EPA is waiting in line for the guillotine at the moment. I wanted to talk a little bit about the ingredient that composes 99% of beer: water. Not only is this a key component of beer and almost every other commodity known to man, but it's also my trade so I want to rant about it a little bit.

What i am about to say is true about the entire world since the dawn of "civilized" man and industry, but it is particularly applicable to the US since 1492. According to the people of the united states, the US government, and private business, waterways have been one thing and one thing only: garbage cans. While large, navigable waterways have been thought of as passages for travel, all surface water bodies -- lakes, streams and rivers -- have been used primarily as the garbage cans of a productive society. Nearly everything that can be bought and sold in the US relies on intakes of surface water for the manufacturing process, and subsequently the disposal of used water back into the river, stream or lake. From factories producing batteries and Teslas and RC car toys and paper and pens and steel and plastics and cardboard and rubber garbage cans and blue jeans, to hog farms and paper mills, to coal power plants...all of these require an input of "clean" water, and during the manufacturing process, that clean water becomes dirty, and that water is treated to a minimal standard and then put back into the river or stream.

Consider the battery factory: they rinse their machinery and battery casings with water and create ionized metallic solutions for dipping, among other things; and the result is brine water full of arsenic, nickel, varieties of sodium. Take a coal fired power plant: water is drawn in to keep the smokestacks cool, and also to become steam which powers the turnbines that generate the electricity. It creates waters containing high levels of mercury, arsenic, lead, selenium, and other metals. My boss actually just led the rule writing to regulate to what standard coal plants have to clean that water before discharging it, and it became law in the last year, but now Pruitt is moving to erase it. But anyway, In both examples, the water is treated to remove part of the metals to the standards Congress allows EPA to set -- which are not stringent -- and then put back into the river.

And how could I forget poop! Whenever you flush, wash dishes, shower, laundry or whatever, that gets sent down the line to the community wastewater treatment plant. The solids are removed from the water, the water cleaned to the minimal accepted standard, and then "discharged" back into the river. And that discharge heads on downstream. So consider how our urban areas are set up. You have communities up and downstream of each other. So discharges from communities upstream remain in the water available for those downstream. Pretty elementary stuff, right? But this highlights a fundamental flaw in our system. You see, pollution /discharges were completely unregulated in the United States until 1948 and only then marginally until the 70's. That's the Clean Water Act that we know today. 

The problem with it is two-fold: first, we expected that we don't need to treat discharges to a very safe standard, because when we sucked the river water back in downstream, we could just treat the crap out of it and human health would be fine. That worked a 100 yrs ago, when clear water that didn't smell bad was assumed safe. But now our technology to detect specific contaminants is so much better, and we realize that cleaning crappy water (no pun intended) is actually really hard to do and expensive. Cleaning out hormones and nitrates, or microscopic plastic shedded from synthetic clothing in the washing machine, is super hard to treat, for example. For really big places like DC, DC Water has the economy of scale to afford all this crazy cleaning technology to superclean the drinking water. Which is important, because Potomac river water has been "through" 7 people and god knows how many manufacturing processes before it is treated and sent to your tap. DC Water can basically strip everything out but the hydrogen and oxygen and then literally have to add minerals back into the water to prevent health problems among us DC folks.

But small communities who lack much buying power? They get what they get. If they sit far downstream of a bunch of industrial activity and towns, and they can only afford some basic filters and chlorine, not the gizmos DC water can afford...what's going into their bodies? And this doesn't apply to just the drinking water plants; think about the wastewater plants. Some of them can turn wastewater into water so pure it can be used for anything, including drinking water. But what about communities that can't afford such technology? Many communities in rural areas can only afford what's called "lagoon" treatment -- literally a lagoon that allows sewage solids to settle to the bottom and microbes to partially disinfect the water on top, which then gets sent into the river. That kind of treatment doesn't do much for things like pharmaceuticals and heavy metals that may have ended up in the waste water.

It also does not address nutrient pollution. For those who forgot their 7th grade science, nutrient pollution comes from various sources and is mostly nitrogen and phosphorus. These are the two primary fertilizers required for optimized monoculture plant growth, and they are prerequisites for mankind's existence. But but we also release what consume in some form, and sewage contains tons of n and p. Additionally, in order to assure a sufficient crop yield, the US encourages Ag to use more fertilizer than necessary out of caution; and water events (rain, floods, farm animals like cows walking around in streams) result in this fertilizer, largely intact, running into rivers streams and lakes (along with animal wastes, which contain a ton of N and P). The result of excessive N and P in our waters is excessive microbial growth, like harmful algal blooms (which release neurotoxins into waters that cannot be filtered out, and Sidenote, these have been occurring more frequently on slow moving rivers and lakes near drinking water intakes). N and P are why the gulf of mexico has a dead zone.

And none of this involves other water issues. Everybody knows about flint now. But what about migrant families in the Central Valley of ca, where over fertilizing of crops results in nitrates in the groundwater, which these families must drink, and they boil the water out of fear of contamination, because the community water system is essentially third world, but boiling only concentrates the nitrates, which results in chronic health issues and birth defects? And that EPA wants to help fix that, but families don't bring attention to it because they think federal assistance will get the attention of ICE? And everyone knows about the ground sinking in California from pulling out too much groundwater, but what about the ground sinking in Virginia, of all places, because groundwater is drawn faster than it can be replenished, resulting in more flooding and saltwater fouling coastal groundwater that families rely on for drinking? Or what about mid size communities that can afford to do some innovative things to avoid these issues I'm ranting about, but the water rates are controlled by the city council, and since they want to be reelected, they keep the rates low, which deprived the water system of investment fund and ultimately prevents the community from doing "the right thing" and instead maintaining the status quo -- which is really the story across America, actually.

Anyway, back to that urban model. all this waste water full of n and p and contaminants goes through basic treatment, right? and then most of it ends up in the river. But we have technology now that can pull the N and P out during treatment and turn it back into commercial fertilizer, which effectively reuses it without letting it run downstream, and raises money for the community when it's sold. And we can take the poopy solid waste and turn it into fuel that powers the entire water plant, plus electricity for homes nearby. A few communities can afford these innovations, but most cannot. By capturing those nutrients, it prevents us from needing to import phosphorus from the middle east and other areas (which we need to do, to maintain current farm yields-- and by the way, it's going to run out in the coming years, and yet we're literally letting it flush down the drain...); it also prevents almost all of our n and p ending up on the sea floor in the gulf of mexico, having been discharged and ending up in the Mississippi River. The energy component would reduce how much electricity is required to clean and produce drinking water, which consumes a little over 2% of all electricity produced in the US.

There are so many challenges and opportunities associated with this way of doing things, with obtaining and managing water. One of the big three. Food, water, shelter. It was a beautiful system 100 yrs ago, but now we understand what needs work...and it's gonna cost money we don't have. Meanwhile, those with the least are being affected the most, as I think is typical. It's not all that surprising that EPA spends most of its time helping folks in trump country have safe drinking water and paying for their sewage treatment, and trump is looking to eliminate those funds.

So it's really important to think about what water touches and it's nexus with our daily lives. What am I sending down the drain? How did my food and my clothes and my purchases ruin or improve the water that other people - or God forbid, other creatures -- depend upon? If my city council or utility commission is considering raising the water rates...is it for a good reason? Probably. How can I help get clean and safe water to those who don't have it? Maybe water isn't  the loudest of issues right now, but take it from me, water problems are Americas best kept secret. Most scholars call it "Americas largest looming crisis" ...and there's a reason mark twain said "whisky is for drinkin and water's for fighting about."

Which brings me to ways we can help solve these issues! Beer is a great start.

***   

[annamcnuff]

Mum. The Turkey Smells Like Fart

BOREAS THE UGLY

Since the incident in Iowa where I set out to ride 120 miles, and ended up almost hyperthermic and in a motel after 50, I’d resolved to be more sensible with any decision to ride in wind and rain. It’s not a question of being ‘ard. It’s a question of not being a tit. So when winter storm 'Boreas’ rolled on up the East coast just as I was leaving New York, my heart sank. I had two days to make 220 miles to Baltimore in time for Thanksgiving with a friend. I decided that the temperature was warm enough to give riding a crack at least and so, at 5am, I snuk out of a Manhattan apartment and was on my way.

The next two days were lacking in glamour to say the least. It poured. Constantly. And just when I thought it might ease up, the wind picked up and it hailed. Then it snowed. I went into a weird saddle-based trance, removing myself from the situation entirely and pretending I wasn’t there (I use this technique climbing mountains too, before you know it you’re lost in thought and at the top. Magic.) I couldn’t tell you exactly what went through my head for those two days, only that I tried to remain 'chipper’ at all times, and if my mind wandered, I lied. To myself and to others I met. To questions of: “Aren’t you cold?, Isn’t it miserable to be so wet?, That can’t be much fun.” I retorted “Oh no, I’m fine, it’s not so bad, I love the feel of the driving rain against my frozen skin” . If all else failed I told myself I only had an hour left on the bike. Then carried on for six.

I tell you this not as a plea for sympathy (although it will be gratefully received and securely stored for the next storm) but simply to share trip evidence for the great Yin Yang that is life. Naturally, It’s awesome, but there always comes a time when you have to wade knee deep through a steaming of pile ugly to get back to the awesomeness.

THANKSGIVING

Wet and cold, but definitely still chipper, I made it to Baltimore at last. And Thanksgiving was a marvellous affair. We took the dog for a walk. Ate. Drank an oversized bottle of wine. Ate. Dallied around. Ate. And then, at around 5pm began preparing dinner.

“What IS that smell?!” Came the cry from Lizzie, the hostess with the mostess in the the kitchen. (Five minutes of Turkey sniffing ensued - surely a contender for an Olympic sport in years to come). Calls to mothers were made: “Mum. The turkey smells like fart.” “What kind of fart, darling?” (I wondered at this point how many kinds there were. I could think of at least three, and relevant subcategories to boot). “Well. Sort of an eggy fart.” “Ah a Sulphur dioxide fart (dammit I forgot that one). That doesn’t sound good. Is there any discolouration?” “Errr… Hang on (pause for Olympic sport 2, Turkey staring). It’s yellow.”

And so with a jaundiced, farting turkey, our hopes of a perfect first ever Thanksgiving went up in a puff of sulphuric smoke. Thank goodness for the late night store and crispy chicken strips. I’m pretty sure the Pilgrims would have gone in for chicken strips anyway, had the Native American Indians offered them as an option in the first place …

Burnt corn fritters and chicken strips - traditional

Lizzie - the hostess with mostly the mostness

WASHINGTON D.C.

Boston and New York are incredible cities, but I’d visited both before. So it’d been a while since I’d experienced the little stomach jump that comes from seeing a famous landmark for the first time. Rounding the bend on the bike path into Washington DC, the Capitol Building came into view. It was perfectly silhouetted against a clear Blue Sky and so I squealed. Then giggled. Then mouthed “That. Is. So. Cool. ” and stared at it so long I almost rode my bike into the fence.

Lovely little ride into DC

The Capitol Building. Very very cool.

I never really had DC on my bulging bucket list until it became a part of this trip. I was a fool. Of course, I’d be a little disappointed if the Prez couldn’t get the city thing down pat on his own doorstep, but it delighted me nonetheless.

The bike lanes in and around town are some of the most impressive I’ve come across since Seattle, as was the attitude of the drivers to cyclists using them - a key indicator of how well supported cycling really is. The number of things to see and do in such a compact area is, quite frankly, ridiculous. The Art galleries cover French, Chinese, Greek, American and Russian work with indoor and outdoor collections spanning everything from the 330 AD Byzantine era to the 21st century. The choice of museums is no less redunk - Native American Indian history, Air and Space, American history, Natural history and Postal. And then there’s the monuments. Who’s greatest triumph to lend a sense of depth and soul to a city which is so young in comparison to other more established ones around the globe.

The Washington Monument

War memorials a plenty

Lastly but not least, there’s Abe. Mr Lincoln, the Lincolnator. It wasn’t until I spent time at The Lincoln memorial and at the American history museum afterwards, that I truly understood how he altered the course of the nation so dramatically. He was not only tenacious, but way ahead of his time. His irrepressible belief that every man was created an equal became a driving force in the eventual abolition of US slavery. Any man who sets such a morally righteous ball in motion, whilst maintaining immaculate facial hair, gets my respect.

The Lincoln memorial

Abe

ANTIETAM

I’m no history buff. In fact, you could likely attribute everything historical I learnt at school to one of those wooden rulers with the names of past British kings on it (Brits you know the one I’m talking about. Americans, see the pic below). I always thought history a little dull (hold your gasps. stay with me), and never really cared for 'facts’. Litres of Mr Saunders (long suffering purveyor of education) Red ink were wasted on correcting my fictitious and elaborate accounts of what Henry the VIII would have said, had he been an utter dude instead of a gluttonous, wife slaying tyrant. But when I learnt, in West Virginia, that I was passing close to the site of America’s bloodiest civil war battle, something very odd happened. I was intrigued.

The extent of my History knowledge

And so the morning I was to leave Shepherdstown, I got up a little early and wheeled my way over the Potomac river to the town of Sharpsberg, and to the battlefield of Antietam.

Perhaps it was because it was a foggy morning. And that the rolling fields were blanketed in a heavy haze, which parted every now and then to reveal a distant cannon or monument to the dead. Perhaps it was that over 3,000 souls took their last breath here, and a further 18,000 were wounded - all in a single day. Whatever the cause, Antietam has real 'feel’ to it. A murky effervescence, bubbling just above non existent, and just below the tangible. I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if a ghostly figure had wandered from the field to shake my hand. Take it or or leave it, believe me or don’t, it’s an erie place.

The erie battlefield at Antietam

Leaving the Maryland, DC, West Virginia area, I felt reinvigorated - full from a three course culture meal, intellectually nourished and ready to take on the South. I’m currently winging my way through the Carolina’s, somehow managing to avoid yet another winter storm which has affected 43 of the US states. I’m feeling rather jammy, although I have feeling that in these last 6 weeks I may meet old man winter head on yet…

Flickr pictures are now up to date here

Until next week compadres, thanks for reading McNuff out :)